GW Lightning Arc 5 Winter
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: Zechs about to break away from Treize, OZ, the Foundation and everything that was his life. Treize coaxes him into spending one last Christmas at the Khushrenada estate in Russia. Memories of coming out and getting together. Lighthearted and wistful.
1. Chapter 1 Winter Morning

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: Zechs is about to break away from Treize, leave OZ and the Foundation to better fight his private war for revenge. He does not entirely understand Treize's dealings with the Foundation anymore, and to him, Treize has betrayed their ideals. But old habits die hard, and old affections tend to root deeper than expected. Treize coaxes him into spending one last Christmas at the Khushrenada estate in Russia. Memories of coming out and getting together, some lighthearted, some wistful...

Many thanks to Karina and to the anonymous reviewer who let me know that they liked this story - cheers!

**xxx**

**Chapter 1 - Winter Morning**

A few days of reprieve, Zechs thought as he took his place opposite Treize at the table by the French doors. Through the bevelled glass, painted with blooms of ice, he could see the snowbound park, bare trees groaning under their glittering load, the fountain grey and lifeless in the midst of this cold splendour.

The drawing room was more intimate and much plusher than the rest of the house, with dark red carpets that swallowed every footfall and walls panelled with matte walnut. This winter morning, a hushed silence filled the room, most guests still in their rooms after a night of dancing and drinking – a Christmas ball at the Khushrenada estate was no trifling matter.

Treize seemed unaffected by the amounts of drink he had downed, and Zechs, who felt the slight twinges of a hangover, wondered enviously how he did it.

Yes, he would spend a few good days here in this place that was as close to a home as he everknew,before taking a leap into the dark. Before he would leave all this behind for good, and become the enemy of the man who had been his friend and companion for most of fifteen years. And Treize had to know. He simply could not have missed all the signs, and then he had confirmed this with his secret visit at the Antarctic base. Zechs shifted a little on his seat as he spread a starched white napkin on his lap.

The Foundation had taken a dislike to his work, to his ideas, to him, full stop, and he had, finally, dared to defy them. By hiding his own gundam and that of Heero Yuy after their latest encounter at the old, cold base in the middle of a white wasteland, buried beneath hundreds of yards of ice and snow. He knew too much now, of Zero and its harrowing side effects, of the Foundation's plans for unmanned warfare against civilians, and he owed them no loyalty. He also knew the solution they had to this kind of problem.

Treize's visit had been as shockingly unexpected as the invitation for Zechs to join him for Christmas. Zechs watched for a moment, wondering how Treize could appear so at ease – he himself had felt tense enough to shatter during their journey into the heart of the Russian winter. Treize had flown his private jet and behaved as if nothing was wrong.

But he knew, Zechs mused painfully, he knew everything. And he was braving the situation with the courage of a man about to die. Determined to buy some time for them together before everything they held dear would vanish in the haze of fire and blood they had managed to stave off so far.

Time to face the music, Zechs thought and suppressed a sigh. He felt ill, without appetite, and had no eye for the pallid splendour of the winter morning.

Treize appeared to be unaffected. He reached for the soured cream (1) and spooned a generous blob onto his plate with currant bread and rose jelly (2). The table, though prepared in haste after he had demanded breakfast be set up in the drawing room for him and Zechs, was decked out with handwoven linen (3) as white as the snow that blanketed the park, and glittered with silver and crystal in the watery light of the winter sun.

Swathes of light brightened the dusky interior. It was cold, the tiled fireplace on one side of the room cleaned of ashes and embers and restacked with applewood, but not lit, and Treize had opened the French doors to the terrace a little. It smelled of frost, stale smoke, leather and wood polish, of tea extract that bubbled away in a tiny silver pot atop a gleaming copper samovar (4) on a side table, of fresh toast and the rose marmalade. The toast being a concession to Zechs because he could never get used to the strong flavour of the rye bread (5) Treize favoured.

Zechs wondered whether his friend did feel the chill at all, but he was loath to disrupt the calm that had settled between them. It was as though they had drifted back in time, right into the cherished memories of happier days.

Suddenly, he felt oddly constrained in this still room. He leaned back, picked up his glass of tea – no larger than a shot glass, finely etched with rose patterns around the rim, and encased in delicate silver filigree (6) that formed a handle – and sipped some while watching Treize eat. Mannerly spreading set honey on a slice of black bread he had picked from the basket, topping it with cream, and cutting small bites to pick up with a silver fork. He could wolf down his field rations like any soldier if need must be, but here, he relished the ritual.

Zechs felt a small smile settle in the corners of his mouth, and even when he thought himself unobserved, Treize gave him a glance from beneath slightly mussed bangs. He was in a state of undress indeed, wearing expensive designer denims and a grey mohair jumper with turtleneck, not to mention his hair that refused to stay in form this morning and kept falling into his face. A brilliant smile, all light and steel, and Treize set down his fork and reached for his own glass of tea. He added brown rock sugar from a small crystal bowl, and scooped a spoonful of marmalade to eat with his tea.

"Now, how do you feel about a ride this morning?" he asked, all innocence, though this time it was a rather heated glance that glittered at Zechs over the rim of the glass. "The horses would enjoy it, and I meant to visit the dacha (7) to indulge in some moments of whimsy."

"Yes."

"You are way too gloomy, my friend." Treize dabbed his lips with a linen serviette and leaned back in his chair to unashamedly contemplate his younger companion.

Zechs felt his face heat up under this scrutiny, not from shame but with a mixture of confusion, sorrow and desire, but he held this gaze and was rewarded with a softening of Treize's features and the familiar passing shade of melancholy.

Treize tossed the wrinkled serviette onto his plate and rose. "Let me try to brighten you up. You will find your riding kit has been brought up to your room. I will meet you in the saddle chamber when you are ready."

xxx

Next chapter: Silent Woods

**Notes:  
**(1) soured cream – is served with and/or part of many Russian dishes  
(2) rose jelly/marmalade – made of rose petals and sugar, a traditional Russian sweet to go with tea which is usually taken strong and with lemon, or strong and plain, rarely with milk or cream  
(3) Russian handwoven, bleached linen – a tradition and now an exorbitant luxury  
(4) samovar – a contraption, either electric or coal operated, of a round kettle on usually three legs, a small tap at the lower half of the 'belly', and a rack for a pot to brew tea extract at the top; can be plain or extremely elaborate, cylindrical or onion shaped; the water simmers in the kettle while the extract is brewing – to prepare tea, some extract is poured into a glass and filled up with water until the desired strength is achieved  
(5) Russian bread comes in virtually hundreds of variations, from fluffy white wheat, over fruit loaves and mixed rye/wheat grey bread, to strong black rye, with or without grains, nuts, raisins, almonds, etc. – not to mention treacle, honey and ginger breads  
(6) silver filigree – traditional tea glasses are plain glasses encased in a metal weave that provides the handle  
(7) dacha – lodge or summer house


	2. Chapter 2 Silent Woods

Many thanks to Karina and to the anonymous reviewer who let me know that they liked this story - cheers!

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 2 - Silent Woods**

If dreams could come true, he was living in one of them now, Zechs mused as they dismounted the steaming horses a few hundred yards from the lodge. Flushed from the rather reckless burst through the forest surrounding the manor, smelling of leather and furcoats and horse-sweat, they stomped through the almost thigh-high snow, the path only indicated by a gap in the undergrowth. It was still out here, pale sunlight slanting through the canopy of naked branches of birch and hazel (1), laden with snow and glittering with ice dops. Now and then, a crack like a gunshot would whip through the silent woods when a tree split in the frost, or some of the blackened branches would divest themselves with a cold whoosh of their burden at the whispering touch of another flake.

Their boots crunched softly in the endless snow, and their breath and that of the horses came in white puffs as they trudged along, the animals following on long bridles that only tightened when the sounds of the groaning forest startled them. "We did not expect such a severe winter,"(2) Treize gasped, half-turning to Zechs who walked behind him, "but it usually precedes a good year for fruit and grains." The estate produced almost everything it needed for the consumption of its occupants, and Treize was proud of the fact – his own little kingdom, Zechs thought with a smile that was free of envy or bitterness.

"You are miles away," Treize's voice suddenly right by his ear, a stirring of moist, chill air, breathing against his cheek, and he turned right into the touch of dry, cold lips. Treize lifted his gloved hands and cupped the younger man's face, holding him in this kiss for a split second, before letting go. "We're close," he said softly, "I bet the place has gone all musky though I asked it be aired regularly."

The little house was built of roughly hewn logs that crossed at the corners. The roof of earth and grass hidden under a thick icing of snow, its crossing gables that culminated in ornately carved horse-heads (3) gleaming with icicles. The outside walls were weathered, bleached a silvery grey with age – when winter thawed away, they would darken almost black with dampness.

They opened up, unbolting the brightly painted shutters, unbarring the door, finding the kit for the horses in the antechamber to the house. They untacked the animals, shaggy, sturdy little creatures that were kept outdoors all year round even under the most severe of conditions. By now, they had cooled down enough to be safe under the fenced-in lean-to roof at the back of the house. Zechs covered them with thick felt rugs they had carried rolled up behind the saddles, and while he buckled them up, Treize dragged a bale of hay from a small shed under the roof. He filled the rack, scooped some crushed oats and dried sugar beet into the trough and went to fetch some water. At the edge of the clearing murmured a brook, and after fighting his way through snow-bound brambles, he returned, sweating and swearing softly, a pail of water in one hand, and a brightness in his eyes.

The horses taken care of, they could settle. Inside, it smelled a little of mice, along with the scent of pine logs and cold bedlinen. The lodge had only three rooms – a lounge, a study and a bedroom, plus a small kitchen and a bathroom that with its stone bench and slatted floor doubled as a sauna.

They did not talk much while they made themselves at home. Zechs lit the fire in the stove that occupied most of the lounge. The thing was built like a two-storey bench of clay and stone, painted white and decorated with gaudy tiles like a tacky birthday cake. It had vaults beneath the bottom storey for drying logs and cushions on top to make a nest (4). Treize busied himself stacking the fire under the stone bench in the bathroom. Then they went out together to fetch buckets of water to half fill the round wooden tub and warm a few pails of it on the bench.

Pale blue shadows lengthened and deepened, and by the time they carried the last bucket inside, the early dusk of the winter afternoon settled in. In the kitchen larder, they found bread, dried meats, a plastic bowl with frozen milk, butter, a jar with set honey, some ginger cakes and a stone jar with salt-pickled mushrooms (5). They hung their furcoats (6) over a rack in the antechamber and finally settled to heat the samovar that stood in a corner of the lounge.

Zechs leaned over the gleaming contraption to spoon some tea leaves into the small pot at the top when the familiar aroma of roses and steel washed over him, and a pair of arms circled his waist from behind. "I missed you," Treize said quietly, resting his chin on the younger man's shoulder.

Zechs turned in the embrace and wound his arms around his friend. They kissed in silence. Softly, passion replaced by tenderness. When they pulled apart after some time, Zechs said, "Did you foresee all this?"

Treize playfully smoothed a few long silver strands from his face. "I am no oracle. But you... you do not have a soldier's spirit. No, please – you have always been too independent. Soldiers do not think for themselves, Miliusha."(7) A kiss to his forehead. "You are destined for other things."

"Then why..."

"Because you can succeed where I must fail," Treize said, pulling him closer still, their warmth mingling, heartbeats weaving together in a steady rhythm, "You think you forfeited your family's legacy when, in truth, you gained the wisdom to reclaim it. The tools to hold on to it. We have a saying-"

"Trust a Russian to have a saying for everything," Zechs groaned quietly.

Treize nodded. "Indeed. The wisdom of our people resides in sayings such as this: what belongs to you, earn it, so that you may own it. Or," a quick smile, "possession is nine tenths of the law. Your sister is a brave girl, but she will need you to accomplish what she set out to do."

"She... she will not want me now."

"Have you tried? Or are you beating your retreat even before you join battle?"

"Don't make fun of me."

"I do not. It might not be wise for her to acknowledge it, but you will find that your help will be accepted when the time is right."

"Treize, you sound odd."

A long silence fell, while dusk deepened quickly. The horses wickered softly once, and the fire rustled, casting flickering gold over bare floor boards and raw log walls. The gaps between the long beams had been stuffed with dry lichen and moss that now painted lacey, shifting shadows over the pale wood. When a log fell into the embers in a shower of sparks, Treize touched another kiss to the blond head that rested against his shoulder. "Let's restack the fire, and get some food," he murmured, reluctantly breaking the embrace.

They fed the fires and got into the bath, complete with rose scent: Treize had found a handful of dried rose petals in a paper bag in between a stack of large white towels in the bedroom. The water was just tepid, but they quickly grew hot when Zechs picked up a large wooden ladle that lay by the side of the tub, and slopped some water onto the heated stonebench. Quickly, the room filled with steam. They crawled out of their bath and sat on the decking, sweating and panting while they were soaking in the hot haze.

Along with the water, Treize had brought in some birch twigs and tied them into small broomlike bundles, and they spent some time lashing each other's backs until they glowed crimson and the blood rushed through their limbs like liquid fire. When they had enough, they took another dip in the cooling water, then ran outside to roll laughing and gasping in the snow under a starspangled sky, their bodies steaming and their breath rising in dense white plumes. Zechs hit Treize's back with a snowball. Treize took up the gauntlet, and soon they were out of breath and hurting with cold and welts where the rather hard missiles had hit home.

Later they sat, wrapped in only a few blankets, on the warm oven in the lounge, with a few candles on the floor, and ate from the supplies the lodge had been stocked with. Treize dashed outside at one point, and when he returned, he produced a bottle of vodka from the folds of his blanket. The glass misted over in the heat, and Zechs laughed. "Hey, did you dig that out just now?"

"From underneath the shed," Treize nodded, still flushed and a bit shivery from the cold as he unscrewed the bottle and poured some of the sharp stuff into his and then Zechs' tea glass. "Na zdorovie,"(8) he toasted and tossed the drink back with a flourish.

Buzzed and lightheaded, Zechs laughed again and saluted before doing the same.

Soon enough they moved from tea with vodka to vodka with a dash of tea, and then vodka with nothing, not even ice. The fire of the drink, the warmth of the stove on which they lazed, the lingering tingle of the sauna had them in a haze of floaty relaxation. "Bed?" Zechs asked when the blanket slipped off his shoulders – as it had done all evening – and he tried annoyedly to tug it back in place only to finally give up.

He looked up and met Treize's laughing and heated gaze. "It will be cold. And I'm not tired."

Zechs scowled. "Din't say I was tired," he slurred, ever so slightly and strenuously trying not to admit just how drunk he was. No way. He could hold his drink just as well as Treize.

Who stretched out his hand to wind a strand of silver blond around his index finger. "Oh?" He tugged lightly. "Well, I should prefer another drink."

That was it. "'S not fair." Zechs tried to pull away.

"Not my mistake. You should not attempt to outdrink a Russian blueblood and officer." Treize now laughed quite openly, though without malice. "Really, my friend, a good commander choses his battles wisely."

"Wise.. ah." Zechs gulped down some air and swayed as he set down the empty glass. "Fill it up, Count, I'll show you some good olfash... fashnd resisnce."

"As you wish. I shall not decline a challenge." Treize let the blond strand unravel. He lifted the bottle but then hesitated. "Although..."

"No mercy to the enemy," Zechs growled, yanked at the bottle and poured himself another glass. He lifted it to his lips, but he had not swallowed the first mouthful when Treize leaned in to him and firmly took the drink away.

"Whatcha doin'?" Zechs protested, flailing for the glass, but Treize set it on the floor and caught him close.

"Are you my enemy?" he said, barely above a whisper. "I do not think so, Miliusha."

He let go of a rather dazed Zechs and went, blanket wrapped round his waist, to fetch some more thick towels from the bedroom. With an iron shovel, he pulled some large round stones from the embers of the fire and wrapped the boulders into the towels. He carried them to the bedroom and placed them between the mattress and the mountainous down bed. Then he fed and banked the fire before returning to Zechs, who had slipped down onto the bench and now slouched against he second storey of the stove.

"Just a little while," Treize said, sitting next to him and drawing him close.

"Yes." Docile as a lamb. Sleepy and drunk. Unwilling to think about what the morning would bring.

They spent some time just like this, unmoving, listening to the fire and their own breathing, wrapped into one another in wordless understanding. "Now," Treize said after a while, "let us go to bed, my friend."

**xxx**

Next chapter: Precocious Child

**Notes:**  
(1) birch and assorted residuous or mixed woods cover thousands of square miles in Russia – a striking sight of endless white and black speckled trees, with flaming golden foliage in autumn; some large country estates lay several days journeys apart, with vast areas of forest in between – self sufficiency was a well-practised virtue of business-minded Russian landowners  
(2) severe winter – snowbound from early October until well into late April or even May, with temperatures down to below 20-30 degree Celsius  
(3) weathered wood - beech perhaps; carvings and painted decorations were adornments of traditional Russian houses  
(4) two storey stove – used to be the focal point in Russian houses of this type; people used it for a bed  
(5) salt pickled mushrooms – knowing, harvesting and preserving the fruits of the forest is something very Russian, due to the long, hard winters and the hot, short summers during which the forest yields its treasures: salt and vinegar pickles in stone jars, berry preserves, dried wild fruit, fruit and/or nuts in honey, roasted, salted or caramelised nuts, smoked and dried game and fowl, preserved eggs – the list could go on...  
(6) furcoats – due to the severity of the weather, furs are part of the (politically incorrect) Russian winter wardrobe: bear, beaver, wolf, fox, mink... Coats could be lined only, or the fur worn on the outside plus lining inside – all depending on the means of the owner; silver fox is one of the most pricey versions  
(7) Miliusha – one possible Russian affectionate for Milliardo  
(8) na zdorovje – to your health


	3. Chapter 3 Precocious Child

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 3 -** **Precocious Child**

Zechs plummeted, Treize slipped into the downy softness, clothes were pulled off beneath the bedding, deft, gentle hands everywhere, garments tossed onto the floor. Zechs was too far gone to take clear note of what was going on; he did not care either – the old trust between them holding true even now. He was with Treize; nothing could go wrong while they were close, together, facing down the rest of the world or -like now -hiding from it.

The contrast between the warm stones at the footend of the bed and the chill, crisp white linen against heat-flushed skin made them shudder.

"D...do you rem...member?" Zechs stutteredthrough slighly clattering teeth.

"Yes." Treize turned towards him and drew him close again, wrapping around him with one leg sliding across his thighs and arms closing firmly around his shoulders. "I remember everything." The moment when they first realised – no, when Zechs first realised it was a different kind of friendship the older youth felt for him,though Treizehad refused to explain...

"H...how old w...was I?" Lips against the crook of his neck... he could sense Treize smiling, breathing, living.

"Barely eleven. No way I could have told you then."

"I knew."

"You were always a precocious child."

"You taught me."

"You surpassed me."

Zechs stirred. "No."

Treize held fast. "Yes."

"You made me wait."

"It was right to wait. You might have wanted something different."

"No."

"You could not be sure. If you do not have all the detail, it is difficult to make an informed choice, you know that very well."

"I wanted you."

"You were curious. You wanted to experiment."

"I wanted you."

"Stubborn." Treize, shorter by half a head than his companion,stretched to touch a kiss toZechs' glowing brow. "So very stubborn. Stubborn soldiers are difficult soldiers. They tend to be insubordinate and awkward to handle. Sometimes they act irresponsibly. Usually, they pose a security threat, and mostly, they end up courtmartialled or dead at the hands of the enemy."

"You would know." A short, tense pause followed, before Zechs began to fidget again. "You threatnin' me?"

Treize tightened his embrace some more. "No. Be still. There is no need, you know these things."

Zechs obeyed. "So do you. Why're you risking so much just to see me?"

Another small pause, then, "Don't you know the answer to this?"

"I wanna hear it."

"I am risking nothing. But I am here with you because you are my weakness."

"You once told me I made you stronger."

"Yes, but not now."

"You made me. How could you expect me to go look elsewhere? You already owned me."

"I..." Another kiss, on a drooping eyelid. Longer, lingering, lips touching the words to bare skin. "I suppose I did. But I wanted you to try to be... free of me. I failed, did I not?" A small, heady silence, before Treize added, "And whileone part of me is sorry and wants to ask your forgiveness, another is, rather selfishly, glad."

"Tre..."

"Miliusha moi."(1) Treize shifted a little to make both of them more comfortable beneath the down that was warming up quickly. He settled Zechs' tousled head against his shoulder, let his eyes drift half shut and watched the deepening darkness through copper lashes, the night a canvas for dreams long past... "I remember... that day in winter. How could I forget? You were out at the bird table to feed those silly little things." A smile crept into his voice as Zechs grunted a little, and he continued, "in nothing but your pyjamas, with my galoshi (2) on your feet. You were frozen blue and trembling enough to clatter your teeth from your mouth, but you were yelling at me for offering my coat to you."

"It was too large," Zechs grumbled and yawned widely.

Treize laughed quietly. "Good grief, yes."

"Din't help that you told me," another deep yawn, "I'd have to grow into it 'fore picking a fight with you."

"I thought it rather unfair to pummel an eleven-year old." Amusement tingeing Treize's voice.

"I hate it when you go soft on me. And I was almost twelve," Zechs bristled, temper flickering, albeit sleepily.

"You were eleven, and I did not. My revenge was accomplished, quite rightfully,when Mother forced you to have that hot bath, and you had to sweat between your sheets. Along with having to drink this lime flower tea (3), plus Babushka's (4) elderberry syrup (5)..."

"I liked the tea."

"Yes, of course."

"You had slipped cognac into it."

"And honey."

"Enough cognac to kill me."

"You did not have to eat all the potted elderberries too."

"They were good."

"Babushka quite liked the idea to prank my mother a little."

"So she let you have the fruit liquor instead of the syrup? You're wicked if you apply yourself. Did she know it was for me?"

Treize relaxedly combed his hand through long silver strands. "Of course. She said when she was a child, it was her favourite cure-it-all. She drank her two glasses every day, and she lived to a ripe old age."

"Two glasses?" Fuzzily, Zechs seemed to try to consider this, without much luck. "Your mother gave you a good chewing out for that," he pointed out instead.

"Because I could not betray my grandmother, and you could never hold your drink." And when Zechs lifted his head in an effort to protest, Treize simply kissed him breathless. "There, shush. Let me be a bit whimsical now, will you? You were singing at the top of your voice, quite falsely too if I may add, and then you burst into tears for no apparent reason. And you were sick on your bed. That's why I had to spend three days locked in my room, an entire week on stable duty, and all that with some unpleasant red welts on my backside."

"The stains wouldn't wash out. And your father had a temper."

"It was my mother who planted those stripes on my rear, with his riding crop."

"Oh."

"You know what you said while you were drunk?"

"You never told me, and everybody elsejust got flustered when I asked ."

"My mother threatened to punish anyone who would breathe a word."

A shiver ran through Zechs, and he winced a little. "She was a formidable woman."

Treize's eyes held a wicked spark. "She was a true Russian lady, and... well, spirited. You wanting to sleep with me, and proclaiming your intentions to the entire household was not something she could tolerate."

"I... what?" Zechs squeezed his eyes shut and uttered a long-drawn groan of agony.

"You scandalised her." Treize's smile broadened into a grin. "Though she blamed me, thinking you way too innocent. Little did she know."

Zechs' eyes flew open, glittering at his friend. "You – now, I WAS innocent at that time!"

"That was not your fault."

"No, yours – why did you creep into my room, into my bed, and then did nothing with me? And I couldn't sleep, what with you trying to jack off right by my side."

"Oh... I never realised... mph." For a heartbeat or two, Treize was speechless, but he swiftly recovered his composureand planted another kiss on Zechs' lips. "You were jailbait."

"So were you." A pensive little break, then, "Would they have locked us up together?"

"I was not keen on finding out."

"And if not," Zechs rambled on, "what would have been different when you came of age, and me still..." A tired sigh. "Well, whatever. It didn't help that you paid me that visit."

"I had to climb across the rose trellis against the outside wall."

"That's why you were all scratched..."

"Yes. And I nearly lost my footing and fell two storeys into the kitchen garden because my fingers were frozen and the moon clouded over as I was about to push at your window."

A low, lazy chuckle. "And I thought you had a run-in with some pretty wildcat."

"This kind of... attitude was not encouraged in our household."

"No. But I left my window open."

"On purpose?" Treize sounded slightly alarmed.

"One can always hope," came themuddled rejoinder, drowsy but in a tone of sly satisfaction.

Treize snorted lightly and shook his head. "And there I almost forgot how wily you can be. Perhaps it was not me who spoiled you after all."

"Never," groggy yawn, "underestimate," another yawn, Zechs tensing and then slackening against Treize, "your opponent."

Treize made no reply this time. He kept staring into the darkness, his face half in Zechs' hair, his fingers gently carding the long strands. His other hand splayed on the back of the younger man, rubbing soothing circles where he could sense his heartbeat and his deepening breath.

Onlywhen he was sure Zechs had fallen asleep, did he settle deeper into the soft pillows, closed his eyes, and let his nightmares come to him.

**xxx**

Next chapter: Scandal

**Notes:  
**(1) Russian – Miliusha mine  
(2) galoshi – rubber overshoes, worn to protect shoes from bad weather  
(3) lime flower tea – to sweat (a lot)  
(4) babushka – Russian affectionate for grandmother  
(5) elderberry syrup – a home remedy for colds; elderberry liquor – home-made fruit liquors are another tradition. The concentration of alcohol is higher in the fruit than in the beverage.


	4. Chapter 4 Scandal

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 4 - Scandal**

When Zechs woke up, a dull morning shone through the small, lace-covered window of the bedroom, and Treize's pillow was cold. For a while, he lay still, snug in the warmth of the huge comforter, and stared vacantly at the spider-webbed ceiling of wood tiles. He enjoyed the sensation of emptiness, total relaxation, with not a care in the world disturbing the peace of this place.

The horses were snorting outside, and he heard them mill around in their pen. Tentatively, he stuck one bare arm out and quickly withdrew it, back under the comforter – the room was ice cold, and he realised that his breath formed a soft white plume in the frosty air. No fire yet meant that Treize had gone out.

A faint throbbing in his temples told him that he had drunk more than his fill the evening before. Lazily, scraps of the conversation, the warmth, the laughter floated back into his memory, and a soft smile spread on his face. Nothing had changed. They were as close as ever, friends, lovers, everything.

Everything.

And suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through his chest, and he sat up with a harsh gasp, but before he could gather himself, the soft crunching of steps on snow approached, and then the gentle murmur of Treize's voice as he talked to the horses. Reality soothed, gentled away once more...

A bucket clanked – Treize probably strewed a handful of hay into it, to cover the cold water from the brook and make them drink slower – and then, the door to the hut was flung open and he stomped inside. Zechs listened, shivering a little as the cold air washed over his back, creating swathes of goosebumps. He could tell what Treize was doing just by listening: shaking snow off his boots and silver fox coat, soft swishing of clothes as they were hung on their rack, small silence as he smoothed his hair.

Then quick, firm steps across the bare planks of the lounge and the rattling of the grid in the stove. He was shovelling out the ash, brushing the fireplace clean and restacking it with logs and some kindling. A little later, the scent of woodsmoke drifted through the chill house, along with the murmur of the simmering samovar and the smell of brewing tea.

Zechs was about to thrust aside the comforter when the door to the bedroom creaked open and Treize slipped in, the look of expectation on his face changing to one of slight disappointment. "Oh. Did I wake you?"

In a thickly knit jumper of undyed wool and worn brown corduroys, he looked a bit sloppy and a lot younger than usual. His hair was in disarray in spite of his efforts to force it into form, and hung into his face that was flushed with the cold outside and heated by the glow of the new fire. Zechs stared.

Treize laughed and slipped into the bed, clothes and all, groping for his friend. Zechs jumped when ice cold fingers grabbed his waist and pressed him against chill garments over a hard, unyielding body. "Don't run away now. I'd hoped I'd be back with you still sleeping."

"To do what?" Zechs tried in vain to bat those cold hands away, and finally gave up with a laugh.

"Hm." A cold nose poking at his neck, cool lips nipping his skin over the pulsing vein. "Let me think..."

"You need to think about that?" Zechs rolled onto his side and clamped the shorter man down with one long arm and leg thrown over him.

"How did you get naked?"

"I wonder... I cannot remember getting undressed when we fell into bed."

Treize laughed. "The tea is heating."

"Right. Ouch, my head..."

"I told you. We should-"

Arm and leg releasing him as Zechs turned over, pushed back the comforter and swung his legs out of bed. "We should have breakfast."

"And then go hunting," Treize added, his tone suddenly different, as though beneath the careless ease some of the winter chill had crept into it.

Zechs, bending over to collect his clothes from the floor, gave him a glance over the shoulder, to meet a flat gaze. "Hunting?"

Treize's smile was still in place, but his eyes were dark. "Yes. Check a few snares that have been set some days ago, and perhaps shoot a deer."

Zechs fished a fresh pair of pants from the small heap of garments and slipped them on, then sat on the edge of the mattress to pull on his trousers. Treize sat up, beat down the fluffy bedding and watched: mussed silver strands straggling over broad shoulders, the subtle play of well-defined muscles, shifting under white skin, flawless except for a few scars. "Would you like that?" he asked quietly.

Zechs nodded. "Yes." He struggled into his vest and the same bulky grey jumper he had worn the day before, pulled on fresh woollen socks and got up. "What kind of snares? For rabbits, or hares? Or were you after something bigger?"

They locked eyes, brilliant blue sinking into pale ice as if seeking, probing, evaluating. "Bigger," Treize answered evenly. "I checked over our guns this morning; they are ready and loaded for deer. Do you remember the rumours?"

Zechs shook his hair out of his face and tied it back with a black elastic. "About the white hart? C'mon, Tre, that's a fairytale."

Treize made no reply but got up and left the room. When Zechs followed, he saw a large laquered, rose-painted tray (1) sitting on the floor by the oven, along with the samovar. On the tray piled honey, smoked ham, some of the mushrooms in a small laquered bowl, a slab of butter on a white porcelain plate, and two glasses of steaming tea. They had brought some black bread and a few white rolls, packed neatly in foil and stuffed into the saddle bags. Now the bread was neatly sliced and set out on the tray too. Treize was rummaging in the kitchen and emerged, a moment later, with a few shards of the frozen milk in another small bowl.

They sat down on the floor and began to eat. Tea with lots of honey and milk helped to warm them through and send a pleasant buzz through their veins.

"How is your head?" Treize asked while slopping honey onto a slice of rye bread.

"Fine now."

"Do you remember the last time you complained about a major headache, aside from working with Zero?"

Zechs paused, mouth full with roll and ham, before he slowly shook his head. "It was not one of your finer moments," he remarked dryly.

Treize threw his head back and laughed, eyes half closing as he slanted a longing glance at Zechs. "You never suggested a better solution. My mother ordered me to attend – wait, they called it an emergency family council – and even intimidated Une into interrupting my meeting with Foundation officials to relay the message."

"Figures," Zechs said with a shiver of dread and respect. "What a feat. So you left base because you thought someone at home was about to die?"

"No less. Only to be sent off to my room and await summons, like a small boy. It was too odd. I could hear them arrive and gather – she had organised a formal dinner, and of course my family are not of the quiet sort."

"Never thought they were."

"Oh?" A pair of copper eyebrows rose in amusement. "Now why would that be, my friend?"

"I know you well enough."

"Drink some tea," Treize laughed.

Zechs shot him a glare and blushed, shifting a little as he gave in to the memory. "Do not distract, you brought this up. You did not have to drag me into it, away from a mission no less."

"That mission was a routine job, besides, you had Lucy (2) along. I did not think she needed you more than me at that point in time. They had summoned me to this council to pummel me – telling me about all those good matches I was about to lose, about jeopardizing succession for our family; Father even threatened to disinherit me."

"And got into a fight with your mother."

"And lost, rather predictably." Treize sipped some tea, eyes twinkling over the rim of the glass at his companion. "It was very entertaining."

"I remember you being rather riled up when I arrived," Zechs cut in edgily.

"Oh, it was more than anyone can take: my dear aunts and uncles, Babushka, plus assorted nephews, cousins and nieces, along with a few of said good matches, all discussing my private life, happily speculating about the most intimate details – well, I thought it was as good a time as any to shut them up."

"Your grandmother told me you'd been slinging around a few home truths about other people's... ah, private lives. Before brandishing a gun, challenging one of your cousins to a sabre duel, and stomping out."

"He called you a faggot."

Zechs choked on a sip of tea and began to splutter, and when he could speak again, he was cranky. "She said you should not have slammed the doors, it made the chandelier wobble."

"She told you that?" Treize set the glass down and tried to glare, but could not help the chuckle that rumbled through him. "Well, they asked for it."

"I didn't," Zechs snapped irritably and dropped the bowl of mushrooms. It broke, and he huffed a swearword.

"You came to my rescue."

"Yesss, because I thought they were about to fillet you!" Angry now, redfaced and struggling hard not to yield to Treize's goading.

"They were."

"So you caught me at the doors to the salon, in full view of everyone, and bent me over to French me?" Beet-red now, eyes flaring with relived embarrassment.

"It did shut them up."

"Indeed!"

"And you."

Zechs jumped up, but before he could go anywhere, Treize caught him and kissed him deeply. "Like this," he murmured as he had to let go so they could breathe. He smoothed his thumb over Zechs' cheek. "You need to shave."

"Oh, let off!" Zechs pushed at him, but Treize held fast.

"Do you really want that?" A small pause, then, "Please."

So they sat down again, shoulder by shoulder this time, backs against the warm oven bench, and Treize picked up one of the mushrooms, checked for bits of lint, and then held it between forefinger and thumb. "You wanted some of these?"

Zechs ate it from his fingers. Treize smiled wanly. "Feeding the wild thing... and get bitten?"

"Hm?"

"Nothing. Now, where were we..." He poured more tea for them and leaned back, reclining his head and winding his arm round his friend's neck. "Ah, yes... I kissed you."

"You ate at me," Zechs mumbled, annoyance subdued now and faintly humoured. "Like someone famished. And I thought I was dying in that godawful silence, with all of them staring holes into us."

"Mother started yelling."

"Yes, of course. About your father suffering some heart attack or such thing, and my ears were buzzing too much to properly hear what was going on, but I remember a lot of noise suddenly-"

"Chairs falling over, ladies sobbing, some of the men growling," Treize laughed freely now and squeezed him a bit. "And they all left rather promptly. You were brilliant, Miliusha."

"Me? I could have killed you then."

"Oh... somehow, from the way you felt down there, I could not believe that."

"Arrgh." Zechs tossed a few breadcrumbs at Treize, who ducked and laughed again, brushing at his jumper.

"Hey! They catch in the wool! I caught Mother later that evening. Sitting alone at the headend of the table, with a bottle of vodka and a teaglass. She was a bit dishevelled."

"Telling you you ruined it all. That your father considered disowning you. Calling you a pervert, and then you hugged her, and she started crying." Zechs shook his head and bit his lip. "Man, your family..."

Treize pulled at his hair. "Why did you have to walk in on us?"

"Because I wanted to agree with her and take my leave, for good!" Zechs growled, trying to pry his hair free.

"Really?" Treize let go and smoothed the long pale strands over his companion's back.

"Yes. And then she calls me an obnoxious brat, and tells me to take good care of you bastard."

"Ah, she always understood," Treize sighed, half laughing, half rueful. "She also called you the little prince who'd plucked the rose."(3)

Zechs shrugged, expression one of sufferance. "Well, what was I to do? I was never good at standing up to her."

"Oh, fearsome maiden-" Treize chanted, dropping his voice to mimick the full tone of a Russian folk singer (4).

"Shut up!"

"Sir."

"What? Ah, to Hell with you-"

A wicked grin, flash of fierce blue. "Sir. To Hell with you, SIR." And before Zechs could wrestle him to the ground, Treize disentangled himself and strode off to the antechamber. "Hurry now, or we'll end up lazing around all day."

**xxx**

Next chapter: The Hunt

**Notes:  
**(1) Russian laquerware – usually wood-turned objects such as boxes, the famous Russian dolls, beakers, carved spoons, boxes, trays etc., in a variety of styles, i.e. brilliantly coloured, highly stylised flowers and animals (birds, cockerels, horses are favourite motives) with white highlights on a black background, often shaded with gold dust or layers of gold leaf or gold interiors for beakers and cups; or colourful designs on ivory/eggshell white background though these are by no means the only styles. Russian folk art is characterised by its rich, bright colours, bold designs and stylised motives, be it in laquerware, emboidery, leatherwork, weaving or enamelled goods. Bright pinks, blues, lots of red and gold are favourites.  
(2) Lucrezia Noin; attended Military Academy and finished second in Zechs' yearclass; they are close friends and comrades in arms  
(3) Eugene Saint-Exuperie, 'The Little Prince' – ESP was a young French author and pilot in WWII; he went missing on one of his missions; the book is presumably written for children – a love story of a child-prince living in loneliness with only a rose for company; in search for love he travels only to return to his rose forever. Sometimes I like clichees, and here I could not resist - Zechs is a prince, and Treize's symbol flower is the rose. Duh.  
(4) Russian folk singer – usually full, schooled voices not unlike operatic voices, to suit the rich, often melacholy tunes of their songs


	5. Chapter 5 The Hunt

Many thanks again to Karina and the anonymous reviewer who sent me such lovely feedback! To me, Treize and Zechs are The Power Pair par excellence.

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 5 - ****The Hunt**

When Zechs followed him, he stood outside, at the far end of the small clearing, near the brook that murmured softly beneath layers of ice. Zechs pulled on a pair of felt boots that would grow heavy with dampness and freeze on the outside, keeping his feet warm on the inside. Treize would wear the same when going out to hunt or fish, but he would even insist on the oldfashioned custom of wrapping his feet in foot-rags, an art in itself for any misplaced fold would chafe and blister. Russian soldiers had conquered thousands of miles on foot like that, he explained to Zechs when asked why he shunned modern waterproofs, or even fur-lined boots.

Zechs shook his head. Sometimes, Treize took tradition a bit far. As he reached for his coat of red foxfur, he looked again – Treize was pacing, a couple of steps one way, a couple of steps in the opposite direction, treading a pattern into the deep snow, and yes, he was sharp enough to take a cellphone along even to this dreamy place.

That much for a few quiet days, Zechs thought crossly, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he buttoned up the coat as he kept watching, barely soothed nerves beginning to jangle, roused by instincts that had been honed through a life of warfare.

"Da," he heard Treize's even voice, "panimayu. Niet, ya nie magu – shto? Skazhitie li vuy..."(1) He turned his back, and the rest of the sentence was too muffled for Zechs to understand, until a sudden, pointed, "You heard me, Colonel. I am certainly NOT available now, and I do not give a shit about their fucking orders... what? I am aware of that. Tell them you do not know. Hm? Yes, I know that someone is bound to turn up here, and yes, the press will have pictures from the ball – no, I can manage. Yes. Thank you." His tone softened a little, sounding slightly strained. "I am sorry, Une. I am asking much, and I am aware of the awkward position into which I am putting you. There is no one else I could trust enough right now." He pressed one hand over his face for a moment, then raked through his hair and shook his head. "Thank you." Clicked the cellphone off and slipped it into his pocket.

He stood motionless for a moment, before drawing a deep breath and turning to face Zechs. Unsurprised, blue eyes clear and a bit weary, but a smile on his lips. "Are you ready?"

Zechs said nothing. With a few quick, long steps Treize was with him, wrapping him into a hard embrace and pressing a firm kiss onto his mouth. "Let's go hunting, Miliusha," he murmured, smoothing a stray strand of blond from the younger man's cheek. "I packed some things into the backpack there – bread and meat, a flask of tea, fire kit and ammunition – ah, and your gloves are on the stove."

Trust Treize to think of everything, even to warm the gloves for him. Zechs held on, reluctant to release his friend, and Treize let him. "You should..." Zechs broke off, cleared his throat and tried again, "You should go back."

Treize kissed him again. "There will be a time to say our farewells, but not now. Not yet. Let us go hunting, and later we should check on the fishtraps though I doubt they will yield anything; it appears that they have been disturbed by some fourlegged fiend." He pressed Zechs close and then pushed him back a little. "Well? Are you up to it, my friend?"

**xxx **

They put on furcaps against the cold that bit sharply into their ears, and dug their faces into their upturned collars to keep nose and chin warm. Snowshoes, woven of rawhide strips over an oval frame of hazel, eased their way through the dense forest. Thick with undergrowth in places, in others serene like a church with the slender, soaring stems of birches rising from the snow into a low, gloomy sky. Shrivelled rosehips, not yet harvested by the occupants of the forest, gleaming from beneath little caps of snow; blackened brambles stubbornly straggling from the frozen ground. Trails of small feet, birds and fourlegged beasts criscrossing the whiteness, and some sparse snowflakes sailing dreamily from the greyness above. The crackling of frozen wood, snow clinging heavily to their feet and dusting their coats as they trudged along, Treize ahead, Zechs content to follow.

As always, he thought, eyes on the broad back of his companion, he had always followed, until now... He felt his chest tighten and tried to put the thought down, but he did not have the same resolve as Treize and began to ponder.

Before he could sink fully into his musings though, Treize stopped sharply and bent to pluck at something hidden in the snow. A trap of skilfully looped wire, designed to kill as swiftly as possible. Treize loosened the snare and lifted up a hare. "Not bad. A couple of days perhaps. Frozen solid."

Zechs took the animal and attached it to the backpack he was carrying. Treize carefully relaid the snare, and they walked on briskly. They checked another four snares, yielding two rabbits, another hare and a polecat with beautiful fur. Treize was content. It started to snow more and the sky darkened, dusk setting in even earlier than on the previous day that had been bright and sunny. So they spared a few moments to eat and drink some warm tea before they got ready to return.

"No stalking today?" Zechs asked, with a vague gesture at their guns. "There were quite a few tracks. I saw new droppings and freshly chewed branches." Indicating hungry deer.

Treize shook his head. "No, it is late, and I am not in the mood. Do you remember the first time you went hunting with me?"

"I hated it."

"You hated the blood."

"You shot that little roe deer, and the stench when you were breaking it open..." He laughed. "To think that this could make me sick..."

"You did eat the slice of liver I offered you."

Zechs gasped. "You looked... you had a drop of blood running down your chin, and that piece of meat between your teeth – how could I say no?"

Treize slanted him a searing glance, pushed a few low branches of a rose thicket aside, held them until Zechs was close, and let go. They whipped back lazily, showering the taller man with a burst of snow. Treize laughed, Zechs swore and then laughed as well, bent as though to evade another branch Treize held back – sincerely this time – and tossed a snowball at his friend. It landed right between Treize's cap and collar, and he jumped.

"Ah – my offer of peace met with a lowly ruse of war," he yapped, reaching up to try to shake the snow from his clothes.

"I studied with the Master," Zechs threw back.

"You always were a bright pupil."

"I'm just good at memorising. Remember what you told me about winning?"

Treize paused, then resumed patting at his clothes again. "Yes. I think... perhaps that was not such a good lesson, after all."

"Why? You proved it many times over: no matter how, once victory is yours, history is rewritten, the law of the conquerer becomes the law of the conquered, and this is the measure by which you'll be judged."

Treize stilled.

A trace of bitterness crept into Zechs' tone. "I did listen. Kept to the rules where I could, but I learned well because you showed me that it works."

"This kind of success comes at a cost," Treize said, barely above his breath. "But I suppose I have no right to talk of mercy."

A brief, thick silence, before Zechs shook his head and laughed, a bit winded. "What are we talking about anyway. It'll all be worth it, and a few snowflakes down your collar won't itch you that bad." He half regretted his words, although his tone was light and bantering. He could not see Treize's face as he smoothed out his fur collar and shook once more from head to toe to get rid of the damp crumbs, before giving up. He started walking, steps crunching steadily in the snow.

"Yes," the older man finally said, smile firmly back in his voice, "so are you proud of being more hardened now?"

Zechs shot him a rather dirty glance. Treize smiled briefly over his shoulder before concentrating on the path ahead again.

"Yes," Zechs finally replied, "I think I am."

"I made love to you that night."

For the first time. Zechs swallowed hard, dropping into the memory like a stone, and only came round when he was caught by Treize's hands on his upper arms. "Hey," a cool, damp whisper into his ear, "stay with me, hm?"

He leaned into the touch, clumsy and numb through all those thick layers of wool and pelt, but firm and familiar nonetheless. "But I am... with you. I was so damn drunk..."

"Not enough," Treize murmured, caressing the blond ponytail with gloved fingers.

"No, just... just enough – I'd have chickened out without it, I think. You were fantastic."

Treize snorted softly. "Only because you let me..."

"I knew it would happen."

"Oh?"

"Because I had been waiting for so damn long, and then I'd been counting the damn days to my birthday so I could get you into bed with me."

"I'd been counting too," Treize admitted quietly.

"You were playing hard to get."

Treize laughed. "I did not fancy a lay in the snow. I might have shrivelled with cold, and you would have gone for someone less embarassing."

Zechs pressed closer, his hands slipping from Treize's shoulders over his back to squeeze his rear a bit. "Still not fond of frosty fucks?"

"No," Treize chuckled, "the problem remains."

"We wear enough gear to keep warm beneath."

"I cannot feel you properly when you are wrapped into all this stuff, and I don't fancy doing you against some tree," Treize said, sliding his grip to Zechs' underarms and pinning them in place. "Let's get back."

It was snowing densely by then, and dusk began to deepen. Soon they would be unable to see where they were going, and their tracks had already almost faded under a fresh, layer of fluffy white.

They returned with the night hard on their heels. They pegged their quarry on a hook in the antechamber, shook snow off their clothes, saw to the horses, fetched water for bath and samovar. All this with few words exchanged. Too tired to care much, Zechs heaped some roughly buttered bread, mushrooms and strips of dried meat on the laquered tray while Treize built and lit the fire. When after a quick wash they sat down on the floor by the stove, with a fresh bottle and the food, a tense silence settled between them.

"What did Une want?" Zechs finally broke the deadlock.

Treize poured two glasses to the brim and saluted. Zechs clinked their glasses together, hooked his arm round that of his companion, and they tossed the drinks back. Zechs stayed like that, his head slumped on Treize's shoulder, his long body folded against the shorter, more compact one of his friend.

"Can't you guess?" Treize finally sighed. "Please, let us not spoil the mood."

"How long until they catch up with you?" Zechs prodded, suddenly weary.

"No more than a day, two with luck," Treize replied, unwillingly acknowledging reality.

"Then we should use our time wisely," Zechs whispered, drawing back a little to touch his lips to the pulse on Treize's neck. "Sleep with me."

**xxx **

The cellphone beeped discreetly later that night. Treize was but resting, drifting, with a sated Zechs in his arm, their legs entangled, a flood of blond splayed over his chest and shoulders, half-open lips drooling slightly on him as though they had just let go of his nipple.

He shifted cautiously to grab the phone from under his pillow. "Da?" he murmured, trying to disengage himself gently from the rather possessive embrace of the younger man. Only to be drawn in tighter. So he gave up and dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "Who? A journalist? Is that what he told you... ah. Digging up old stories... hm. How cheap. No, I am not surprised; it is so like them to resort to mudslinging where all else fails. Ah, of course they do not want the limelight on the Foundation, so they make it personal – hm? No, thank you Une, I'll be fine. I truly appreciate your loyalty."

He put the call down and lay still, looking at the ceiling. The bedding rustled softly, and he felt Zechs shift, then his voice, deep and soft, "It's such a rare thing, isn't it?"

Treize turned towards him and brushed the mass of silverblond from his face, meeting his gaze that glittered vaguely in the starlit darkness. "Loyalty to a leader makes for faithful soldiers. Accountable, heroic, reliable souls." He traced the sharp profile of his partner, then the harsh lines of cheekbone and jaw, down a firm neck, over a broad shoulder and a muscular arm, only to slip back up and repeat the caress. "But there are those that can only be loyal to themselves. It is the harder part. Treason is relative, as are justice and judgement." He paused a little before cupping the back of Zechs' neck and pulling him into a firm kiss. "My position has been weakened, albeit predictably so. I must buy time. When I return, I will have no choice but to try to have you arrested. You know what that means."

The unavoidable clad in a few smooth, hard words, relayed in a factual tone. Showing that His Excellency General Khushrenada had never stopped reassessing his position, evaluating his strategy, laying out a variety of tactics that took into account as many variants as possible, with the cold precision of a computer. Building defences, simulating scenarios, calculating outcomes. All for the goal that overrode everything else in his life.

Perhaps death was not the ultimate price, Zechs thought as the familiar dragging pain jabbed through his chest, not for such as Treize and him.

A soft sigh, lips touching his cheek. "I will not be able to keep them from courtmartialling you. And if you take off in that suit, I will have to hunt you down."

"Try your best," Zechs murmured into Treize's mouth.

"I will." An odd reluctance, firm hands stroking a long, trim back. "Miliusha," tone dropping to a husky rasp, "would you..."

"Yes," came back a rough whisper, even as long limbs tightened round the shorter man.

**xxx **

Next chapter: Cornered

**Notes:**  
(1) Da... – Yes, I understand. No, I cannot – what? Could you tell me...


	6. Chapter 6 Cornered

Karina, many thanks again for reviewing! I think these two allow room for complex interpretation, and they come across as an absolute powerhouse. Well, here goes another instalment.

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - and still nothing explicit (although they do remember a few of their closer encounters).  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 6 - ****Cornered**

Treize slipped out when dawn broke, to chop some wood by the shed behind the house, light the fire and make tea. Shaking a sleepy Zechs awake and handing him a glass of the steaming drink, he laughed at the bleary-eyed glare he received. "You are getting complacent, my friend," he said softly, his tone anything but admonishing, while Zechs scrambled back to awareness.

Treize stripped and crawled back under the covers; Zechs tried to flinch away because he was cold, but Treize laughed and pressed close, tracing chill fingers over the younger man's stomach. A trail of goosebumps followed his touch, and the teaglass in Zechs' hand shook a little. "Tea stains are a bitch to wash out," he groaned, squirming, his eyes glinting beneath dense white lashes.

"Oh? Then I suggest," Treize let his index finger wander, circling his navel and tracing the dusting of hair that ran from there further down, "you exercise a measure of self-control appropriate to the situation, soldier." And let his hand settle between Zechs' legs.

Zechs' eyes flew open, his muscles tensed, and a tremor ran through him. He managed to lean out of the bed to set the glass on the floorboards, and in the same instant, Treize spooned around him, one arm around his waist, the other combing through messy blond. "You look so innocent when you sleep."

With an effort, Zechs turned in his hard embrace and clamped one long leg over his thighs. "When all I have are rather... inappropriate dreams about my commanding officer."

"Did you dream?"

A small pause, pale eyes sinking into intensely blue ones, then a soft, "No. Since... I don't know how long, I slept without dreams."

Without nightmares, Treize thought as he touched Zechs' temple, smoothing back some tangled silver strands, let his fingers wander down his friend's neck to his shoulder and began to knead deftly. "Headaches?"

Zechs went limp under the massage and let his head sink against Treize's shoulder. "No, doctor," he muttered.

Treize smiled into the blond mess. "Are we being insolent now?"

"Hmph." Another brief break, then, "Don't patronise me."

"Would I ever?"

"You do it all the time." Slightly sharper then.

"Oh?" All feigned hurt.

"Yesss," an annoyed hiss.

"But-" The cellphone buzzed. Treize swore under his breath and fished for the phone under his pillow, but Zechs was quicker and swept it out of his reach, holding it up and narrowing his eyes as he read the display.

"Give it to me," Treize demanded quietly, all lightness gone from his voice, and Zechs obeyed.

Treize switched the call off without looking twice, and dropped the phone on the floor.

"Five missed calls," Zechs said darkly, "and all from Une." He turned onto his back and angled one arm over his eyes. Treize never missed calls, especially not from his adjutant, and Une would not disturb him unless she had no choice. And he rarely set the phone to buzzing instead of ringing, usually not even during his most strenuous meetings with Foundation officials.

A long silence settled between them, before Treize touched his arm. "Let us have our tea before it freezes over."

"You know what she wants?"

"It's tepid already; perhaps I should top it up with some hot water."

"Tre!"

Abruptly, Treize got up and padded into the lounge, without caring to pick up his clothes. Zechs lay still for a moment, before turning onto his stomach and hugging the pillow against his chest. He dug his face into the feathery softness and finally yielded to the latent burning inside him. It flooded him like a riptide, in one deep, violent, searing wave; it took him under and stole his breath, and for the first time since he had decided to follow his conscience alone, he was afraid.

Wracked by doubt. Conscience such a trifling thing. The magnitude of what he had planned hitting home without mercy. And he felt as cold as space without the familiar warmth, the touch that had guided his entire life, the safety of trust and affection.

The mattress dipped, lips touched his shoulderblade, a whisper by his ear, "Drink while it's warm. Please."

He was afraid to let go of the pillow against his face. He was afraid to look up, scared of what he would see, what he would have to confront.

"It's scalding my fingers." Another kiss, then a sigh, barely audible. He could feel Treize sit back against the headboard and gently plump up the cover as he pulled it over Zechs' bare upper back.

When the younger man dared to turn, it was only enough to catch a glimpse of Treize who sat still, legs drawn up against his chest, the cover a white mountain from which only his head protruded, and his hands that curled around the tea.

Zechs could not help but meet his eyes over the rim of the glass.

He had known Treize's eyes sharp, keen, harsh, and cruel. He had seen them blank, or passionate, occasionally washed out with exhaustion. Often sparkling with mischief, laughing, in all shades of amusement, and sometimes watery with physical pain. For him, they had also softened with affection and tenderness, or filled with longing. But there had always been a small reserve. A screen that skilfully hid Treize's most private thoughts, the inner sanctum that no one, not even Zechs, was able to breach, not even in their most intimate moments.

Now he was allowed to see those eyes bare and unguarded, sore and tired.

And he was shocked to see his pain mirrored there, in all its tearing intensity.

For a moment, Treize looked old.

Outside, snow drifted against the window. The horses milled around in their pen and wickered nervously. A draft pressed through the moss-filled gaps in the walls, and in the chimney whined the wind. It smelled of woodsmoke and ashes, of raw timber, stale tea, and a bit of dank clothes. The day was gloomy, unwilling to rise, and unlikely to brighten. Soon, the wind would pick up strength and drive the snow in swirling swathes. If they stayed put, the masses of frosty whiteness might bury them before nightfall.

It seemed a good idea.

Treize broke away first, wiping his eyes, shaking his head a little, before finishing his tea. He set the glass down on the tray and scooted back under the cover, letting himself sink deep into the downy softness. He drew Zechs close and wound his arms around his waist. For a while, they lay still, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath mingling, soaking up one another's warmth and scent.

They both jumped when the phone buzzed again.

Treize took oddly long to pick up the call. He fumbled to free his hand from the folds of the cover, then to grab the phone, and his fingers trembled a little when he pressed the receive button. "Da?" His voice sounded rough, and he half-turned away from Zechs as he spoke. "Da. Spasibo, Colonel. Da, ya charasho. Konezhno, sluzhayu."(1) A long pause before he covered his eyes with one hand. He was listening to Une without interrupting her, until he finally said, "We are on our way."

He ended the call and let his hand with the phone sink into the cover. "I had Lieutenant Noin's movements monitored, along with all of her communication. It appears she found what you were seeking." He hesitated before adding, "I have been summoned back to attend a hearing about some personal issues."

"Summoned?" No more than a weary croak.

The cover rustled softly as Treize turned back to kiss Zechs on the tip of his nose. "An order I cannot evade."

The words hung in the chill air, a tiny whisp of white, a frosty mist that slowly dispersed. To Zechs, they could have been an ice block, crushing him, and he was suddenly loath of the cold. So he said the first thing that sprang to his mind when he thought of summer, warmth, and the dreams they were about to bury. "Do you remember that ball at Dorothy's?"

Treize's arms safely around him. "Yes. Her house warming party."

"I'd have called that a lump of steel and glass a hangar, not a house."

"You did."

"I could not help it."

"Diplomacy never was your forte. You were annoyed because the invitation was addressed to 'His Excellency General Khushrenada, and Colonel Marquise'." The hint of a smile in his tone. "She set out to scratch your pride a little, and I think she knew rather well how to achieve just that."

A soft snort. "Last time I checked, I was not your wife."

"I would not allow you to wear heels."

"Don't." A plea, laced with sudden pain.

A kiss, barely touching his lips. "I'm sorry." Another kiss, softer still. "Forgive me."

Zechs slipped his arms around his companion's shoulders. "Yes... You had invited Lucy."

"To surprise you. I thought you would be pleased to see her."

"I was."

"You looked... content together."

"You watched us dancing. From that door to the balcony. You were half-hiding in the folds of that curtain, and you were drinking too much and smoking. I can count on one hand the times I caught you smoking."

"A whim. Unhealthy."

"Like-

Another kiss, stopping the words before they could slip and cut. "You were annoyed that I insisted on sitting next to you during that dreadful chamber concert."

"You created a stir by asking that girl to clear off so you could take her seat. And then you fell asleep."

"It was terribly boring."

"You were snoring."

"No."

"Yes. With all due decorum, I admit, and very softly; no-one would have guessed just from looking at you, but... how do you do it?"

"What?"

"Sleeping with your eyes open."

"Practice," Treize suggested, a smile painting tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "I guess my mother subjected me to too many bouts of this kind of music at a tender age."

"Trying to rein in your temper, no doubt."

"Or calm herself. It was a bit rude of you to wake me."

"You were groping me."

"Hmph." A warm hand sliding from Zechs' waist to his hip, down to his thigh, and back up on the inside, but the touch was tender, oddly reluctant, and stilled before reaching the junction of thigh and groin. "You were wearing too much."

"We were in public." Zechs reached down between them to seize Treize's wrist, and shoved his hand firmly where he wanted it.

He was soft, and Treize gently kneaded his flesh. "Those trousers..."

"I hate dress uniform."

"It does not hide much." A small pause, then the hand that cupped his crotch slipped back up over his belly to rest over his heart. "You stood Lucy up."

Zechs wrapped his arms around his friend again. "No. She told me she'd be around when I needed her, and went to join Une."

Another long silence, before Treize said, "She is good for you."

"You trying to match me up?"

"Who better than me?" Treize countered quietly.

Zechs' embrace of him tightened harshly. "What are you saying? Tre, what are you planning? This war will end, like all wars do; sooner or later we'll strike arms, and then... we'll have a life. We'll have done our job; we'll be able to leave this shit behind and live."

"Yes." Without the slightest hesitation.

"You said you'd be with me."

"Forever."

"Forever." Nails pressing into firm flesh, leaving bloodshot half-moon patterns just below Treize's shoulder blades. "You promised. I trust you. I always trusted you, but you don't trust me."

"Sometimes, trust is such a burden." Fingers lacing gently into silver strands.

"Then share it."

"There is no need to weigh you down with my troubles."

"Because I can't handle it? 'Cos I'm failing you? Or am I not worth it?"

"This does not deserve an answer."

"You told me about informed choices. Won't you afford me one now? I have a right to decide for myself."

"So do I." Unyielding, brittle, frosty.

A choked gasp, then silence for a long time. Snow gathered on the small ledge outside the window and half-obscured the ice-painted glass panes. A world of grey and white, all signs of life muffled and stifled under layer upon layer of tiny ice crystals. Inside, the little house began to thaw from the fire that hummed in the stove, and around the window frame, melting water seeped into the wood, darkening it from bleached grey to sullen black.

"I recall that we got a bit drunk," Treize picked up their talk, his tone softened and almost easy again. "And you looked stunning, a little flushed and sweaty, with your hair stuck to your temples and trailing about your cheeks. The girls were fairly swarming around you, and you seemed to enjoy the attention they lavished on you."

No answer.

He caressed Zechs' hair. "I do admit I felt somewhat... left out."

Still no reply.

"You were laughing about their jokes and accepting drinks from them even though I thought you had had enough already. You got wobbly and were leaning on two of the pretty damsels, while I was wondering whether I should save you from distress, and whether that would make me your knight. When all I really wanted was lay you right there on the dance floor."

A deep, painful sigh. Zechs voice was hoarse as he said, "You aren't known for your charitable intentions. You grabbed me for the next dance and swung me around a few times, pretending to merely get me out onto the terrace."

Treize laughed. "You were mortified."

Zechs huffed. "You created a minor scandal."

"They were all hoping for one. I think they enjoyed it."

"You were jealous."

A kiss on his cheek, a heated whisper, "Blindingly so."

Zechs sagged into him a bit more. "Sometimes, you don't make sense."

"No."

"You asked me to go for a walk in the park with you, to show me the roses."

"They were at their best, in full bloom, and the scent... it grows stronger in the evening. Besides, it had grown too hot inside, and muggy with all this sweaty perfume and tobacco, alcohol and burning candles."

"It was warm outside, too. And dark."

"But not as pongy. That park... so many old trees, it reminded me of here. And the moon was almost full. You know what your hair looks like when the moonlight shines on it?"

"Are you going all soppy on me now?"

"Am I?"

"Yes."

Discreetly, Treize cleared his throat. "My people... we like being a little sentimental now and then."

"I noticed."

"Oh..." Treize pondered. "Well, we never reached those roses, did we?"

"You pretended to have lost your way."

"You did not argue."

"With your hands down my pants – how could I?"

"I could not resist. You were drunk, and yielding, and-" He paused, then, suddenly anxious, "I hope it was what you wanted?"

"To be dragged unceremoniously into the shrubs and be done with the aid of a spit and a prayer?"

Deep, edgy silence, before Treize let go of a long breath and tugged at a fistful of blond. "I admit this IS a bit late to ask. Even though," a tactful little cough, tone guilty and a tad hopeful, "I'd say you were a rather... enthusiastic participant in our activities."

With a tense chuckle, Zechs let his eyes drift shut. "I guess it doesn't count that I complained about scratches from the damn shrubs..."

"Afterwards. You complained afterwards." Treize settled his hand on his partner's hip and gently pushed at him until he rolled bonelessly onto his back, one leg pulled up slightly, the other one caught beneath Treize's thigh. "And I dare say I did not just use a prayer. You took ages to sort out your hair when we got back, not to mention that you were extremely cranky with me for the rest of the night."

"Don't be smug now. I had to steal into my room, those tangles were a bitch to get out, and there was no conditioner in the bathroom."

Treize laughed lightheartedly. "I did offer help." Sliding his hand over a muscular arm that twitched nervously.

"I had had about enough of that. Stop tickling me"

"Are you still angry at me? You soaked my pillow because you skipped drying up."

"I was knackered. And it was my pillow."

The hand tangled in swathes of silverblond. "Hm. I never figured out how you can fit all that hair under your pilot's cap."

"I wind it... oh, damn you – stop teasing me already!"

"Yes, of course. How would you want me to-"

"Man, Treize!" A violent twist, thwarted by the swift, hard clasp of Treize's arms.

"Ah, I see. Not in the mood. You were still flushed at breakfast the next morning."

A token struggle, along with a deep, sullen groan. "No, I was flushed again because not only did you spent the night in my room, but you just had to order room service, and managed to receive the girl with nothing but a towel pressed to your crotch."

"You loved it."

Zechs blushed a furious crimson. "I did not!"

Treize's smile took on a decidedly wicked edge. "So you thought it safer to hide in the hangar and check over the jet?"

"I was NOT hiding!"

Treize shrugged. "Everyone was asking for you."

"Jesus, Treize!"

"So I decided to call you."

Zechs squirmed. "The military communication systems are NOT meant for private, err... messages."

"You were getting off on it."

"Phone sex via the intercom – bloody hell, if your soldiers knew..."

"Some do."

"What?"

Treize pressed one hand on his shoulder to hold him still, and let his other hand ghost over the younger man's chest, only grazing his nipples. "Well. One does."

Zechs sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard to swallow another groan. He did grunt when he was pinched gently. "Ngh... military... ah... stop this... communi... good grief, Treize – communication gets monitoried."

"I used my secure channel." A kiss to his temple, then a tentative lick. "And I trust you were bright enough to turn off the monitor in the jet. You taste salty. Like in the bushes."

"I'm no lollipop."

"I would argue the case. The ladies thought you were eyecandy. I had to try, and I know better. That morning, I was looking out into the park while I was talking to you, with Une and Lucy sitting at the table behind me."

Zechs flung one arm over his face even as he tried hard not to press into the touch of this skilled hand. "Oh, to Hell with you..."

"I don't think they could quite hear what I said." Another stroke, a bit firmer, warm skin on shivering skin.

"I... really... hah... hope so."

"I would not do this to you. But it was nice to listen to you-"

Zechs gasped and could not swallow a deep, throaty sigh as firm fingers roamed over his flank, down to his raised thigh, and pushed softly but insistently at his knee. "Yes," Treize murmured, "you sounded like this. And I imagined you slumped into the pilot's seat, with your hands down HERE." He demonstrated, and Zechs twisted and bit into his shoulder. "I hope you had the earpiece on?" Treize whispered harshly into his ear.

"Hell, ye... ah," came the muffled reply, tone veering on the brink of losing it, "Just managed to switch over from... mmmh... the speakers 'cos the mechanics... oh God... were getting suspicious."

"You could have cut me off."

"That...", strained between clenched jaws, "would have merited... shit... disciplinary action... according to section... five..." Zech's breath gave out and he clawed at Treize's upper arm as he threw back his head and dug it into the pillow with abandon.

"Specials Code of Conduct, regulations for the use communication equipment, article one, paragraph a... You permitted ME to breach the regs."

"Not for – me – to – judge..."

"You could have complained about harassment."

A sharp, breathless laugh, somewhere between desperation and need. "And show... my stained trousers for proof?"

Treize chuckled and let go of him down there to cup his chin and pull him into a deep kiss. "A difficult situation indeed."

"Sticky, I'd say," Zechs managed tightly.

"The parameters were certainly off."

"Yours too? You hit bulls eye anyway. Did you... I mean, with the girls... sitting right behind you..."

"I had to go to the bathroom. You can talk dirty, you know that?" Treize shifted his knee up a little and dropped his voice to a husky murmur. "Let me?"

"Hurry up," a raw hiss through gritted teeth. "I'm dying here."

**xxx **

Resting in the afterglow, they drifted in the timeless grey light that trickled through the almost-snowed shut windows. The edges of those wads of snow shimmering white at the edges, darkening to a dull grey where they rested densely against the small window panes. The fire had burned down to cooling embers, covered in ashes, and another layer of ice blooms was growing on the glass. The black patches of dampness around the frame and the bottom half of the wooden walls were glittering with frost that slowly crept higher as the little house chilled.

"You always had the knack of doing this," Zechs said into the thick silence, watching his and Treize's breath forming dense white clouds above their faces.

"Hm?"

"To shut me up by sleeping with me." His tone was factual, free of accusation.

"I didn't mean to, Miliusha."

"I'm not complaining."

Treize turned and met his eyes, his face calm, his eyes still as they sought and held the pale blue gaze of his friend. "Do you regret?"

Pale as ice, cool and serene. "No."

"Nothing?"

"No.

"Neither do I. Not what I have done, or what I will be doing."

"What will you be doing, Tre?"

"I will end this war for good."

"What if-"

"And I will be waiting for you."

Zechs closed his eyes. "Say something in Russian," he begged quietly.

And Treize leaned into him so that his lips touched a frost-pale ear, and murmured, "Ah, Miliusha moy..." A whisper of a kiss, barely there, and then, with great tenderness, "Ya tebya lyublyu."(2)

**xxx **

Next chapter: Wild Goose Chase

**Notes:  
**(1) Da... – Yes. Thank you, Colonel. Yes, I'm fine. Of course, I'm listening.  
(2) Miliusha moy... Ya tebya lyublyu. – Miliusha mine... I love you.


	7. Chapter 7 Wild Goose Chase

A great thank you to Karina, MikaSamu and Rude2 for your wonderful feedback.

**Lightning Arc 5 - Winter**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize in their whole dashing, brilliant, ruthless humanity  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - and still nothing explicit (although they do remember a few of their closer encounters).  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: see Chapter 1.

**xxx**

**Chapter 7 - Wild Goose Chase**

They spent the morning lazing in bed, doing not much of anything except watching winter reclaim the little house, the whiteness of their breath growing denser, the bedroom turning gloomier as the wind continued to drive snow against the window. Timeless, floating, Zechs had no idea when they finally began to move, Treize first, hugging him hard, breathless, long. Kissing with an intensity that held more than a hint of desperation, then tearing away to get out of bed.

When Zechs finally made it outside, dressed and slowed by a strange exhaustion, Treize was pacing a small patch of trampled snow just by the porch. All around, snow was piling hip-high, shoulder-high where the wind blew it into drifts in beneath the trees at the edge of the clearing, and still it kept snowing, in silent, dense swathes from a grey sky. Treize, in his silverfox coat but without cap, his copper hair dusted with snow, pressed the phone to his ear with a gloved hand. His face was harsh and concentrated as he talked, fast and in a mixture of Russian and English, interrupting himself from time to time to listen and wipe the snow from his brow and collar.

Zechs did not want to know. He went to tack the horses.

When he had finished, stowed all their gear, guns and quarry, Treize had gone inside to make sure nothing was left behind, the fire dead and the hearth clean. The rest would be done by the groundsmen later. Zechs tethered the horses to the front door and stepped inside, meeting Treize who came out of the bedroom. For a moment, they stood still, looking at one another.

"We're not coming back here." Zechs did not make it a question.

Treize's eyes narrowed, then closed for a heartbeat before meeting the pale gaze again. "After the war," he said softly.

"Tre-"

"I will be waiting for you. I will always be waiting. I will always be with you." A smile, a passing shadow of melancholy, before casting a quick glance through the window. "We must reach the manor before dusk. We should hurry."

**xxx**

The rode back in silence, the horses having tostruggle through snowdrifts up to their chests, the two men with their faces deeply in their fur collars and arms kept close to their bodies to preserve warmth. It was difficult to see through the veils of white that turned the entire world into an amorphous mass of cold and wet, but the animals followed their instincts and just after the shift in light before the long winter night would obliterate any trace of life, they reached the great house.

They could see the upheaval before they emerged from the forest into the park: the yard flooded with light, half a dozen gleaming four wheel drives on the alley leading up to the main entrance, and an unmarked jeep painted the military blue of the OZ Specials. People were scurrying back and forth between the house and the cars that stood bumper to bumper as they tried to cram as close as possible to the wide staircase to the main door.

Treize lifted one hand, signalling Zechs to keep behind him, and took a few moments to watch and assess, then he turned, his face dark beneath his fur cap. "The press have arrived. Plus a couple of gentlemen sent by the Foundation."

Zechs breathed out sharply. "Treize..."

Treize shook his head. "This is it, my friend," he said, his voice rough. "I suggest..." He broke off and turned away to stare at the scene before them. "Go to the hangar. The jet should be ready; I asked my men to check it over. It is no flying weather, but you know that. I trust your skill. You can leave the horse there; I will send someone to collect it. You have the guns. Use them if you must." He paused, before turning back and looking at Zechs once more, for a long time, drinking in every detail. "This is all I can give you," he then said. "Our memories. A few peaceful days. My..."

"What, Treize?" Zechs ground out.

Another tense silence, broken by the snarl of an engine on the driveway. Treize leaned forward to gentle his fidgeting horse by patting its neck with his gloved hand.

"Treize? Your what?"

"Please go now," Treize said quietly, his tone utterly void of expression, his face pale and blank, eyes hidden beneath the rim of the cap and the deepening shadows. "It will be dark soon, you must reach the hangar. I will deal with everything else."

The press. Rumours. Slander. Threats. Pressure by the Foundation.  
Loss. Pain. Betrayal.

The end of everything they had been for one another.  
The end of everything.

**xxx**

The runway had been cleared of snow, the plough still flashing orange lights at the edge of the airstrip that was lit brightly and walled in by snowdrifts twice the height of a man. The gate of the hangar gaped wide open, the jet had been pulled out and was running, men bustling about, driving the tanker lorry away, removing tools and gear.

When Zechs rode onto the heaving, light-torn airfield, he had to lift his arm to protect his eyes from the blinding glare of searchlights, and a moment later, a jeep lumbered to a growling halt by his side. He kept a firm hold on the reins of the tired, nervous horse as the door flew open and a man in the winter uniform of an air force mechanic stuck out his head and touched his temple with his fingertips in a swift salute. "Colonel? We were getting worried, sir. Everything's ready."

Zechs slipped off the horse. "Thank you, lieutenant."

The man got out of the jeep and reached out. "You may want to take the car, sir. I'll take care of the horse."

Minutes later, after feverish activity and another flurry of movement around the aircraft, Zechs was in his pilot suit, helmet in place over the mass of hair wound tightly around his head, oxygen mask over his nose, and the cabin sliding shut with a sharp hiss as the engines powered up with a piercing whine. Unthinkingly, he slid his hands one last time over the harness to check the fastenings, looked over the controls, checked his seating position. Routines, ingrained beyond conscious thought. Men were running towards the hangar, and the intercom crackled to life as he set the plane rolling.

The double strip of blazing fires that marked the runway, the cluster of floodlights atop the hangar, the dark silhouettes of men and the spiderfingers of searchlights that cut into the drifting snow, all sinking away, shrinking into slivers, sparks of yellow on black, and then melting into nothing as the plane blasted into the night.

He stared at the pale green and blue screens that glimmered at him, his eyes in the snowbound darkness, the blinking of the controls and the feeling of the machine surrounding as familiar as always. A fake world to replace the real one he had left to fly towards the secret base, a place that was non existent to all but a handful of chosen people.

He reached into his flight jacket to adjust the intercom, and paper rustled under his gloved fingers. He touched again the webbing pouch that held the piece of equipment on the left side of his chest, and his heart beat faster. Perhaps one of the mechanics had forgotten to remove the nonsensical leaflets that always came with new equipment. No pilot worth his salt needed any instruction leaflets by the time he was harnessed to his seat, but sometimes... He pushed his hand into the pouch, found the paper and pulled it out slowly, never leaving an eye off the controls.

And felt as though he had received a blow to the heart when he glanced at the piece of paper that quivered in his right hand. A legal letterhead, addressed to him in the unmistakably neat, controlled handwriting. No more than a few lines, dated many months back, the day of the summer ball. Signed with a flourish, Treize Khushrenada, unbothered to write out his title, above the smaller, stiffer signature of Colonel Une and the firm one of Lieutenant Noin. A few dried rose petals fell into Zechs' lap when he unfolded the paper and smoothed it over his thigh. He could not afford to switch the jet to autopilot, not under those weather conditions, but he kept glancing, catching word by word what Treize had to say to him, until it began to make sense.

'I love you,' he wrote, 'but you know that. I intend to keep my promise – you recall that one? In case circumstances beyond my control should foil my plans, I have left instructions with my solicitor to transfer the deeds of the estate into your name. The transaction will be concluded by the time you read this. It is but a poor sign of my appreciation, but I have nothing else to give you. A duplicate of said instructions is with Noin, and another one with Une. I trust both of them explicitly. And now, Miliusha moy, it is time to say our farewells. The next time we meet, we will be fighting one another, and I know you will not disappoint me. Do you remember my birds? Remember, Miliusha, and soar.'

He could not hear anything but this howl that was like nothing he had ever heard from a jet engine. It drilled into his ears, knocked the breath from his lungs, and set him spinning, falling, diving...

...caught the nosedive...

...his own voice, screaming down the intercom for a connection to Treize...

...no answer...

...but static... and stillness...

**xxx**

Treize dismounted and handed the horse over to one of his men who hurried to assist him. He yanked the quarry off the saddle and stalked with long, angry strides towards the main entrance.

Without sparing anyone as much as a glance, he burst through the doors and tossed his cap on the floor. Snow fell off his coat and his collar as he let the bundle of frozen carcasses trail behind him, and he left melting boot prints on the polished marble floor as he marched straight across the vestibule into the salon and the commotion of voices, lights and flash photography that had invaded his home.

The fire was burning brightly in the cast iron fireplace at the opposite wall. The long table that stretched from the door to the hearth was cluttered with papers, pens, a laptop, and expensive cameras, along with a samovar and platters and plates with half-eaten sandwiches, fruit and biscuits.

For a moment, he stood by the door, surveying the mess, and the men who had made it: a television crew with soundman, camera and reporter, two newspaper hacks, a nervous butler, and two quiet, discreet figures in neatly pressed dark suits and precise haircuts. The TV crew scrambled to get close, the hack opened his mouth but then decided just to take notes as the TV reporter shot questions at Treize.

Who tilted his head, pushed his chin out and showed his brightest, most winning smile. "I was hunting, gentlemen." He lifted his quarry, then slung it onto the shiny table. The frozen flesh thumped hard onto the wood and made plates and cutlery clink in protest. "And I was not done."

They started yapping affronts at him even as he stalked to the head of the table to take his seat, and he smiled for the camera, answered, joked, charming, wily and resolute, playing them expertly at their own game, while the Foundation men watched in silence, patiently biding their time. It would be harder to deal with them than with slurs and insults.

The carcasses began to smell, oozing blood onto the polished table as they thawed in the overheated room. Treize's tone grew faintly edgy, though he remained polite and obliging. The veils of snow drifting past the windows became denser still until a flood of white floated in the darkness, unceasing, silent, and the pale mass began to pile up above the windowsill. Treize rose, shrugged off his coat and tossed it carelessly over the back of his chair.

He was about to place another log onto the fire as a shudder ran through the old house, the windowpanes sighed and soot rained into the fire in a shower of murky sparks.

And then a sonic boom tore through the winter night.

The silence that followed was complete. Treize carefully bedded the log into the ash-covered embers, grabbed the upper ledge of the mantelpiece and pulled himself up. For a heartbeat, he closed his eyes and bit his lip.

Before taking a deep breath and turning around briskly. He lavished his most brilliant smile on the baffled assembly, spread his arms, palms out, and said, "Gentlemen, I believe any questions you may still have can wait until tomorrow. Travelling will be difficult tonight; my house is at your disposal should you wish to stay."

He cast a long glance at the dark window, through his own reflection into the snow-bound darkness, "Now, if you will excuse me, the future does not wait. I have work to do, turkeys (1)to deal with and wild geese to chase (2). Have a good night." He nodded curtly at the perplexed men and stalked off, slamming the door behind him.

When the window panes had stopped rattling, one of the journalists cleared his throat and looked cautiously around. "He's gone nuts," he ventured.

The man with the camera shrugged. "Cut."

**xxx**

Treize walked out into the night, snow filling his boots, catching in his hair, soaking into his jumper that began to freeze and stick to his skin, but he walked on until the lights from the manor were a dull shine in the shifting darkness. The fountain was half-filled with snow and where the wind had blown it away, some ice gleamed faintly in the pale light that reflected from the whiteness.

He stilled and wrapped his arms around himself as he laid back his head and searched the shifting blackness above.

So barren, so distant. So very lonely.

He felt his heart leap as he spotted the tiny blot of light that was moving fast across the veiled sky. Rubbing his arms, he watched this tiny spark, bright and bold, fading quickly into the bottomless darkness. Only then did he finally make his way back to the house.

On his lips lay a true smile.

**xxx**

**THE END of LA5**

**Notes:  
**(1) turkeys – false news  
(2) wild geese to chase – a wordplay with a) the name of Zechs' gundam, the Tallgeese, and b) the phrase 'to go on a wild goose chase' – a fruitless undertaking; chasing after a fantasy


End file.
